


A Never Ending Game of Cat and Mouse

by zaffrin



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Choking, Dark fics, F/M, Hate Sex, Mild blood/violence, No fluff to be found here, Orgasm Denial, Pain, Rough Sex, Series, Standalone fics, character exploration, oneshots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:40:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22186501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zaffrin/pseuds/zaffrin
Summary: ‘Kneel,’ he had commanded when he’d had her briefly in his claws.Well, he certainly had her on her knees now, spread wide and pressed into the mattress, his hand knotted in her hair, using it for leverage as he fucks her mercilessly from behind.Only this time, she’s not sure who’s caught who. Or if that even matters, when it comes down to this; perhaps they have both lost.A series of ficlets revolving around the twisted relationship between the Doctor and the Master.
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/The Master (Dhawan)
Comments: 166
Kudos: 466





	1. Cat and Mouse

**Author's Note:**

> Please read the tags and avoid if not your thing, this is not a cutesy piece in any way haha

‘ _Kneel.’_

The words had rang in her head long after they’d left his lips. First accompanied by fury; fury that he would degrade her like that, force her to submit to him when he knew she wouldn’t refuse for fear of causing more to die. 

‘ _Kneel.’_

She can remember the feeling of dropping to the cold wood floor vividly, so vividly as she’d lowered herself before him, screaming at him in her head, vowing to herself that he she would not let him win; she would get him back for this. 

Then after the fury - long after, when it was all over and she _had_ won, bettered him like she always manages to do in the end, the memory of being on her knees before him is still so sharp in her mind, and other feelings start to seep through. 

She’d blocked it out at the time; the foreign twinge between her legs as she had knelt to the floor. The Doctor didn’t bow to anyone, and the fact that the Master had forced her to do so should _not_ excite her. Maybe it was just him. The cat and mouse game they’ve been playing across galaxies and millennia always sitting undeniably deep between her hearts and in her core. One of them always caught the other eventually.

 _‘Kneel,’_ he had commanded when he’d had her briefly in his claws.

Well, he certainly had her on her knees now, spread wide and pressed into the mattress, his hand knotted in her hair, using it for leverage as he fucks her mercilessly from behind. 

Only this time, she’s not sure who’s caught who. Or if that even matters, when it comes down to this; perhaps they have both lost. 

“Say my name,” he growls, hips snapping into her fast.

The Doctor clenches her teeth. “No.”

He gives another yank on her hair, dragging her up off her hands so she is kneeling up, back arched and head tilted back against his shoulder, the hand twisted in her hair making her eyes water and mouth fall open in a gasp of pain.

“ _Say my name.”_

“Say mine,” she shoots back.

He turns his head, burying his nose in her neck and then he bites her, hard. 

“Doctor.” He still growls into her skin though when his teeth release her flesh, and she smiles as her body gives a shudder of pleasure-pain in his hands.

She’s bleeding, neck smarting from the sharp assault, and she flinches when he touches his fingers to the mark, smearing wet blood down over her bare chest, grabbing her breast roughly before he pinches her nipple between his thumb and forefinger so hard the jolt of pain shoots straight to her clit and makes her gasp.

“Your turn my dear,” he hisses into her ear, pinching down harder. She cries out, hand flying up to grasp his wrist, nails digging into his skin as she tries to pry his hand from her. Still she stubbornly shakes her head.

He growls, and she knows she’s pushing him, knows how short his fuse has always been, knows how liable he is to snap in the blink of an eye - somehow that’s always made her want to press his buttons more rather than back away. The Doctor never could resist a wasps nest and a stick in her hand.

His hand releases her nipple only to drop down between her legs, fingers slipping over her clit, fumbling and pressing until she gives a sharp gasp and her hips jerk back against his. He rubs at her clumsily, out of time with his thrusts inside her but it doesn’t matter; the pleasure builds just as surely, her whole body winding up tight like a bow string ready to snap, and her vision starts to swim as everything accumulates hot and heavy between her legs, climax impending -

The Doctor almost cries out in protest when suddenly his hand is gone and he pulls out of her abruptly, leaving her to collapse down onto her hands, doubled over as her body gives a violent shudder of protest. She reaches between her legs, shaking and desperate, but he grabs her hand and wrenches it away before she can touch where she needs, shoving her face down into the mattress and pinning both arms above her head.

“You’re not getting what you want until you give _me_ what I want,” he growls, and she lets out a gasp when she feels his hips buck into her, the contact fleeting enough for her to know it had been involuntarily. Despite her position, she smiles. 

“You want it just as much. More, probably. How long do you think you can deny yourself with me pinned here like this?”

“Say my name,” he demands, voice shaking on the words 

“No.”

She thinks he might hit her. He has the upper hand in strength this time around and she knows he could really hurt he if he wanted - kill her easily, twist her head round and snap her neck right now if he desired - but he doesn’t. Just like he hadn’t thrown her off the eiffel tower when he had her half over the edge by the throat and so easily could have. He always makes such a show of ‘trying to kill her’, when if he really wanted he could pick up a gun and shoot her in the head, stab her through the hearts with a knife over and over until she had no more regenerations left… she wouldn’t fight him. She’s never been a fighter, not in the physical sense of the word - and he’d had more than enough opportunities. 

The Doctor knows he won’t really kill her, and he knows that she can stop anything he throws her way, and that’s what makes them so dangerous to each other. 

He grabs her throat again now, two hands wrapped tight around it, squeezing hard enough to bruise. 

“Say my name or I choke the life out of you,” he threatens, despite the fact they both know her respiratory bypass will kick in before that could happen. 

“Losing it, aren’t you?” She rasps out, “Your control. Wondering if it’s worth denying yourself just to - get one - over on me,” the words become harder to choke out as he squeezes tighter. 

He thrusts back inside her, slamming into her deep and making them both cry out. His hold on her neck losens, only briefly as she feels him slump a little over her back and knows he is struggling not to just finish them both off. 

“Why don’t you just give in?” She gasps, panting where she is pressed into the mattress, thighs aching and quivering and sweat dripping down the back of her neck. 

“Because you won’t win this time, Doctor,” he vows and despite her position she breathes out a laugh at the sound of her name leaving his lips.

“Sorry - what was that?”

Realising what he’d done he pulls out of her with an angered growl, throwing her down onto her back and kneeling over her, one hand still pressed against her throat as he grabs his engorged length with his other. He pumps his hand over himself, quickly, frantically, releasing just a few seconds later, spilling over her stomach and thighs with a yell and collapsing down, half beside her, half on top of her.

They are both panting when he stills, and she is shivering hard, body taut and desperate for release as she had watched him reach his, and she squirms, gasping in deep lungfuls of air where his hand has finally dropped from around her throat. 

The Master lifts his head from her neck, looking down at her with darkness swirling in dark eyes. He’s beautiful in this regeneration, but she’d never tell him that, swallowing and tilting her chin up to gaze back up at him stubbornly. 

“You will say my name,” he vows, upper lip curled into a snarl. He reaches down between them, fingers feeling between her legs, rubbing at her just enough to make her gasp and have her flying up to the edge again them moving them away, leaving her shuddering, empty cunt contracting around nothing. 

“Beg me.”

She hesitates, body screaming. “Please,” she relents after a pause. 

“Please _what?”_

She presses her lips together, shaking her head. 

He sighs but she can tell his frustration with her is reaching breaking point in the tenseness of his shoulders. “I can hold you here for hours if you want… days. Keeping you on the edge. Find out which one snaps first, your body or your mind.”

“I think you’re giving your skills a little too much credit,” she pants out. The thinly veiled insult angers him, and he’s moving off her, grabbing her thighs and dragging her down to the edge of the bed, slipping off it to the floor so he can push her legs apart and bring his mouth to her wet, aching core. 

She cries out when he engulfs her, almost shooting upright as he sucks on her clit, clearly determined to proove her wrong. Unfortunately for her, it seems the Master knows his way around a female anatomy just perfectly, perfectly enough to have her gasping, grabbing at his hair and moaning, voice high and desperate in minutes. 

“Shit,” she curses, something she doesn’t often do in this form, heel digging into his back, hands clenched in his hair as her hips bore down against his face, “uhh - don’t stop, _don’t stop -”_

He does, predictably, and she almost cries when he lifts his mouth from her, her aching sex throbbing, legs trembling. 

“Please,” she whispers, brow furrowed, ready to snap, ready to give in if it’ll give her what she wants - “ _please_ I need -”

He licks her again, just one lap of his tongue over her clit that makes her cry out, hips jumping. 

“Say my name,” he growls against her. 

She swallows. “Kosch -”

“ _No!”_ He cuts her off, furious, “Don’t you dare - don’t you _dare_ utter that word,” he threatens, eyes flashing from his place between her legs, “You know what I want now _say it!”_

The Doctor lets her head drop back to the bed, gazing up at the ceiling, room spinning, head light and dizzy from wanting, her skin burning, nerve endings raw and whole body exhausted from being held on the edge like this for so long. 

“Master,” she whispers. 

“What?” The word is breathed against her clit and makes her shake, growing impossibly wetter. 

She swallows. “Master,” she repeats, looking down at him through glazed vision, “please Master.”

He starts to laugh, quietly at first before he is laughing gleefully from his place on the floor, the sound sending vibrations through her which irritate raw nerve endings.

“Now give me what I want,” she says bitterly, “Master.”

He is still grinning but he aquiests, leaning back in and opening his mouth over her, pressing two fingers up beneath his chin and thrusting them inside her, curled up towards his mouth as he tongues firmly at her clit. She is breaking apart in near seconds, climaxing hard around his fingers, hips pressing desperately down into his face as he laps at her, wringing every last jolt of pleasure from her body as she cries out over and over before the tremours finally cease and he lets his fingers slide out. 

She lays there for a moment, dazed, just staring up at the ceiling as she feels her body continue to tremble lightly, lifting her head to look down only when she feels wet lips open over the skin just below her hip, and teeth nip sharply at her.

“I knew you’d never win,” he smirks when he has her attention, panting as he rests his chin on her inner thigh, lips wet and glistening with her pleasure, hair mussed from her hands and damp with sweat like her own. 

She grins. She can’t help it, lifts herself up off her back, just enough to prop herself up on her elbows so she can look down at him, take this moment in; bask in her victory. 

“Didn’t I?” She smirks, and raises a pointed eyebrow. “Who’s on their knees now?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might delete this one, I’m working on a couple of longer fics with these two but I’m still learning how to write the Master and figuring out their dynamic so this was just a little practice/experiment with that. 
> 
> Always helps to hear other's thoughts though! ;)


	2. Extinction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! So since you lot were so lovely instead of deleting this I've decided to make it into a series of standalone fics revolving around this pair, a place to dump anything short and pointless because I have a feeling I'm gonna be writing them quite a bit 😅 Probably likely that most of them will be E rated but rating will be in each chapter title. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy! This isn't a happy one...

“Why did you pull out?” She utters, turning her head to stare at him collapsed next to her, panting hard, sweat cooking on their skin. She feels numb. “We’re the last two of our kind now. Would it even matter?”

He frowns. “And do you really think our race deserves to live on? Knowing all you do about how we came to be now?”

She looks away, back up at the ceiling, swallowing. Her body is tingling and aching from their encounter, and she feels the chill of the air on skin damp from sweat and the Master’s pleasure on her stomach and thighs. She feels filthy.

Instead of answering she rolls out of bed and to her feet, padding away into the bathroom and turning the shower on, stepping inside under the hot spray. 

Two arms wrap around her from behind after a few minutes, and she tenses in his hold.

“What are you doing?” She mumbles as the Master presses searing kisses to the side of her neck, nudging wet hair aside with his nose.

“Showering.”

“No, you’re being… _affectionate.”_

“Is that illegal?”

She shrugs out of his grasp, turning to frown at him.

“That’s not what we are.”

He looks back at her through the spray of the shower between them, steam rising around them, his gaze level. It would be easy to imagine in this moment, that this is something different - that _he_ is different, even, _sane._ Like he hadn’t massacred their entire world and tried to destroy her over and over.

But he had. 

Although, she supposes she’s done the same.

He gives an ‘oof’ as she shoves him into the tiled wall behind him, hands tight in wet hair, kissing him angrily as she braces her hands on his shoulders and jumps up, legs wrapping around his waist. He spins them, so her back is slammed against the wall instead, and reaches down between them, his skin hot against hers under the spray of the shower, lining himself up and sliding back inside her with no preamble, hands tight on her thighs as he holds her in place and thrusts into her. 

He is hitting her deep but too slow for the Doctor’s liking; too much like this means something it _must not_. 

“Come on,” she growls, clawing at his back and neck, hips bucking into his. “Harder, fuck me harder. _Hurt me.”_

“Dangerous words,” he growls back, a breathless laugh tumbling out with the words. He shifts his grip on her, propping her more securely against the wall and stooping slightly, bending his knees to brace himself and then he is pounding into her, fucking her so hard and fast her teeth knock together and she can only cling to him desperately, mouth falling open and eyes shut as she eagerly takes all he can give.

Her whole body shudders when she climaxes around him, head spinning, a scream tearing it’s way from her throat that she tries to pretend wasn’t his name. She aches when he withdraws from her quivering body, letting her back down to her feet, grunting as his engorged length presses into her stomach and she reaches down, curling her fingers around him but he pushes her down instead, hands tight in her hair. She winces as her knees crash against the hard shower floor but leans forward, readily taking him into her mouth, hands going to his hips as she relaxes her throat and engulfs him as deeply as she can. 

“Ohhh fuck, you always were - good at this - weren’t you?” The Master rasps out as he pulls at her hair, urging her faster. The implication brings up memories of a long ancient past she’d rather forget, and she shifts her hands to his backside, gripping hard as she hollows her cheeks and works him harder until he hasn’t the breath for words, drawing a hard climax from his body. 

She sucks him until there is no more to come, then slides him out of her mouth, turning her head and spitting her mouthful of him down the shower drain. She cups her hands under the hot water and swills some around in her mouth to rid herself of the taste before clambering shakily to her feet. 

“Get out,” she says quietly, back to him. “I want to shower.”

“What a coincidence - me too.”

She flinches away when he touches a hand to her hip from behind and he withdraws it - thankfully, obeying her wishes for once and stepping out of the shower, leaving her alone with the sound of running water and steam rising around her. 

The Doctor braces a hand on the tiled wall, bowing her head and letting the hot water beat down on the back of her neck and wonders what her friends would think if they could see her now. 

_Her friends_ . Her _fam_ as she used to call them, who she’d dropped back in Sheffield and never returned for. Now she knows what she does; knows what she _is,_ she doesn’t think she ever could. 

She’d spent the past seven months searching for the truth of the timeless child, and now she’d found it she wishes she never had. Wonders perhaps, if the Master had been trying to spare her in a twisted, roundabout way by not telling her himself. He had seemed surprised enough when she’d showed up inside his Tardis and said one word; “ _how,”_ before crumpling to her knees. She thinks maybe he hadn’t expected her to ever find out at all. 

When he’d dragged her up off his floor and pinned her to his console, growling at her to get a grip, she’d seen red long enough for her hands to find purchase around his neck, squeezing like she was capable of killing him like that, furious when he’d only laughed and plucked her hands from round his throat, pinning them to her sides and leaning in to kiss her instead. 

“ _You killed them,”_ She’d sobbed as his hands forced their way beneath her clothes, his touch searing hot on cold skin. 

“Tell me you wouldn’t have done the same and I’ll stop,” he’d growled into her ear as he removed her clothes, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t, so what was the point of resisting anyway? She deserved this. He deserved this. 

They deserved each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know if you liked this, I already have quite a few more little things I've been tapping away at I can get posted in here (and yes, the couple of longer fics I mentioned are still coming... at some point ;))
> 
> Also I didn't wanna guess at the timeless child thing and probably be totally wrong so I've just left it out, just assuming it's something horrendous enough to upset the Master it's gotta be pretty bad 😬


	3. Contact

It is three weeks before she gives in. 

Gives in to the feelings, the memories, the awakening of desires the Doctor had long since buried, shoved behind a door and bolted shut because they had no place in connection with  _ him _ anymore. 

But this regeneration is… different. She fizzes with adrenalin, danger makes her spine tingle and her head rush, fury makes her insides burn and  _ he _ … he set every inch of her alight, made her want to jump head first into fire and let its icy flames drown her. 

She finds a bedroom - not hers, she doesn’t think she even has one this time around - one furthest from the wing her human companions are in as possible, and locks the door behind her, stripping off her clothes and getting under the duvet like she can pretend she isn’t really doing this if nobody can see her. 

Her nipples are hard and her stomach muscles taught when she smoothes a hand over herself, spreading her legs already and slipping two fingers down between them, too impatient and ashamed to bother to do anything but get this quickly over with. 

The sigh falls from her lips as her fingers circle her clit and her other hand has slipped from her chest to her neck before she realises it, head tipping back as she curls her nails into her skin and remembers his hand there, tight, pressing, crushing, cold railing pressed against her back, colder wind whipping around her hair, reminding her that he need only give her one  _ push _ and she would -

Breath hitches, and she presses two fingers inside herself, thinking of him, hating herself every second she imagines her fingers are his own and she can feel hot breath against her neck and hear his low voice in her mind. She swears she can feel his presence as she works herself quickly higher, hear his rough voice filling her head with illicit thoughts she should never indulge in, feel the pressure of him inside her head, his being, here with her - like she can  _ feel  _ him there, niggling at the edges of her mind, as if he really were, nudging, asking for...

_ Contact. _

She closes her eyes, lets herself imagine, tongue flicking out to wet her lips - “ _ Contact _ ,” she breathes.

_ So this is what you’ve been doing when you think about me. _

The Doctor's eyes snap open and she freezes, fingers stilling, stomach flipping.

A laugh rumbles through her mind.

_ I must say, I’m flattered. _

Her hearts pound as she lays there. “You’re… you can’t really be here -“

_ Of course I’m here, you just invited me in. _

She swallows, hard. “I thought that was -“

_ What? Your imagination?  _ Another laugh; smug and gloating.  _ Do you usually imagine me when you’re touching yourself?  _

The Doctor yanks her hand away from between her legs, body screaming in protest, limbs trembling. 

“I’m - I wasn’t,” she pants. 

_ No need to stop on my account my dear,  _ he purrs, she can  _ hear _ the grin in his voice. And then - she gasps, body flooding with heat, and a shock of arousal going through her like a bolt of electricity as she  _ feels _ what he does - the moment he takes his own cock in his hand, pleasure thrumming through her brain and shooting through to every nerve ending. 

She groans, wetness seeping between her legs, core aching. 

_ Go on, _ he whispers,  _ show me what you were thinking of. You don’t need to hide from me. _

Her hand is back between her legs before she can stop herself, eyes rolling back as she strokes her clit and arches into the mattress, thighs falling open, lips parted. 

“Shouldn’t be doing this,” she whispers as she circles her clit, grinds her hips into the touch. 

_ We’re not really doing anything.  _

He had a point, she supposes. It eases the guilt inside her to pretend, anyhow. 

“How did you get into my head?” She breathes, voice hoarse as her fingers move steadily. 

_ You made a link in Paris, remember? We never closed it off. And you were thinking about me  _ very _ hard just now, I couldn’t help but overhear. _

_ Of course, _ the Doctor scolds herself even as she feels a fresh rush of wetness under her fingers. Stupid,  _ stupid.  _

_ I didn’t mind, _ she hears his laugh in her mind, gasp when she feels the stroke of his hand over himself, his pleasure building with hers. 

“It’s this regeneration okay,” she tries to justify it breathlessly as her hips move restlessly, fingers quickening, “Sex drive.” The words catch on a gasp as the Master squeezes himself in his hand and she grows wetter. “Quite a bite this time.”

_ Sure it’s not just me? _

She seethes as he sees straight through her, shaking her head with a frown as her pleasure builds. “ _ No.” _

_ Whatever you say, love,  _ he humours her.

He’s pumping his hand now, she can feel it; every stroke four rapid beats of her hearts and her fingers are moving in synch, pressing and rubbing over her clit, hips rocking and breath ragged.

_ Are you imagining it’s me?  _ He husks into her head. 

“Are  _ you _ imagining it’s me?” She fires back. 

_ Of course I am. Not your hand though. You have such a pretty mouth this time, what I would give to see it wrapped around my cock.  _

The Doctor gasps, hips twitching, fingers slipping back and pushing inside herself, aching for more. 

“Just my mouth?” She breathes. 

_ Your mouth first. Then your cunt.  _

Another gasp, fingers pressing deeper -

_ I’d need to get you ready first though.  _

“I’m ready now,” she whines before she can stop herself. 

_ I bet you are, _ he growls in her head, and she hears the hitch of his breath as his hand moves quicker. 

The Doctor swallows, lips parted, needing more, needing his  _ voice _ . “How - how would you do it?” She whispers. 

_ Hmm,  _ he hums in her mind, as if in deep consideration,  _ I’d press my fingers inside you like yours are right now, _ he replies and she whinges quietly, hips moving quicker.  _ Two first, then three… you’re still new so I bet you’re tight.  _

“I am,” she breathes, easing a third finger inside like he’d said, and he groans in her head at the words. 

_ I’d fuck you until you were dripping, begging for my cock.  _

“Ah!” She hisses, inner walls contracting around her digits at his words. “I’m - gods I need this - I need you.” If she had been less delirious she may have paused to think about those words, but they slip from her lips and disappear, evaporating along with the other gasps and exclamations of pleasure she gives, joined by the Master’s as she works herself higher. 

_ Show me what you’re thinking. _

The Doctor swallows and projects an image to him; her, here in this bed, legs spread, chest heaving as the Master moves atop her, buried deep inside her, her nails raking down his back and breath ragged by her ear as she throws her head back and keens. 

His answering groan reverberates through her entire body, and she clings to the sound, moving her fingers faster within herself, letting the heel of her hand bump against her clit with every thrust. 

_ Harder, _ he grunts,  _ fuck yourself harder for me, just like I’d do it.  _

She does, throwing another image at him; her on top, riding him as he grips her hips, bouncing roughly down on him, squeezing her inner muscles around him just as she clenches them around her own fingers -

_ Oh gods you’ll be the death of me, _ comes his hoarse answer, gasped into her head, his breathing uneven and and thoughts starting to spiral, showing her image after image - her, bent over his Tardis console with him buried inside her, her on her knees with her mouth wrapped around him - the Master on  _ his _ knees, head moving fast between her legs, dark eyes glancing up - locked onto her own - 

She comes to that image, gasping and murmuring his name like a prayer as she  _ feels _ him reach his own climax, his pleasure reverberating through her and joining her own through their shared connection until it is almost too much, and she pulls her hand away, body jolting and quivering as she gasps for breath. 

She’s panting, body sweating and trembling, and she shoves the covers off to let the air cool her, blinking up at the ceiling, trying to detangle her thoughts from his. She bites her lip. 

“This never happened,” she says quietly, and hears his laugh fill her head. 

_What never happened?_ _As far as I remember, I just had a wank by myself. No crime there._

“Charming,” she sighs. 

_ That’s me. _

“Well… okay.” She almost bids him goodbye - realises that would be a little out of place. Perhaps not so out of place as having telepathic sex with her best enemy but she best not add to that list. 

_ Call me if you need me. _ His voice answers, she can hear the smugness to it and sets her teeth on edge. 

“I won’t.”

The Doctor breaks off the connection but doesn’t close it - telling herself firmly it’s only because she’s too tired for the mental strain tonight, as she curls on her side and reminds herself sternly that that was  _ never _ happening again. Just a slip of control. One slip up, just because this stupid body had an annoyingly high sex drive. She doesn’t dwell on the thought that she’d only become aware that said sex drive even existed three weeks ago. 

She makes it two days. Two days of trying to force every illicit thought that invaded her head out, two days trying to ignore the occasional niggle in the back of her mind that reminded her she still had a connection with him that was never closed, two days of cold showers and restless nights. 

She settles down in bed on the third night, body wrung out and mind too exhausted to resist tonight, lets her hands trail down over a heated body, breath coming short and fast in anticipation - and she closes her eyes and breathes one word;

“ _ Contact.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, short rubbish and pointless but the ideas been annoying me for a while so I had to get something down. Hopefully a few of you enjoyed reading it anyway! :)
> 
> I've mentioned before but follow me on twitter @_spoilersweetie ! I'm gonna do some prompts soon for these two I think, the cc link will be on there :)


	4. Burning

It’s been a long time since any version of the Doctor let him close like this - let him close in _this way_. Let him crawl inside their mind as he pushes greedy hands beneath clothes to touch skin and forces a tongue between willingly parted lips; a vow for what was to come. But this one is different - darkness swirls behind hazel irises, a glint of familiarity he sees when he looks in a mirror, a set to her shoulders and shadow across her face that belies what’s beneath the cheery exterior. He made that, the Master tells himself proudly. He turned her into this, pierced her hearts with anguish and agony when he burned Gallifrey and left it for her to find - or perhaps he just cracked through a mask centuries thick and exposed what was always beneath. 

He is giddy when she yields beneath him, fingers as eager as his when they fumble with buttons and clips - gleeful when she lets him bind her wrists above her head, pretending he would have done so whether she acquiesced or not. 

“Safe word?” He smirks down at her for the show of it.

“Gallifrey,” She snarls, like she dares him to try and make her say it.

He always did like a challenge. 

The Master’s head is filled with rage - always - and energy, never ending, fizzing, bubbling, driving him mad with its persistent knocking against his skull to _do something, hurt someone, kill something…_ it torments him if he stops - even for a moment, content only to sit back and relax if it’s part of some grand twisted scheme that needs to take the time to brew, it’s dark promise filling his mind and settling it briefly, like the calm that washes through him that fraction of a second after he kills. But it doesn’t last - nothing does - only destruction can soothe the relentless pounding in his skull -- and her. 

Nails claw at her, teeth bite, flirting with the idea of breaking her skin just dangerously close enough to make her gasp and writhe beneath him, chest arched, a pretty pink nipple presented to his hungry mouth - it would be too easy to rip it off with his teeth. 

She wants this, he realises - wants him to hurt her, use her like this, too content to lay there on her back and let him fuck all the anguish from her mind, if only for a little while. 

He doesn’t want to give her what she wants. 

Hands reach up and untie her from the headboard quickly, pushing her over, binding her hands behind her back instead before he rolls over onto his own propped up against black pillows, dragging her up and round like a rag doll, pulling her on top of him. 

“Ride me,” he growls, one hand tight round the bindings holding her wrists together behind her back, his other like a vice clamped round her hips as he brings her to his cock. She takes him in, panting, struggling not to make a noise apparently, by the twist to her face as he yanks on the ties so her back is arched, planting his feet and bucking up into her. Tight hot walls envelope him as her senses wrap around his inside his head, thoughts mingling - what little of hers she gives him access to that is. He probes in her head as she starts to move over him, trying to force his way behind steel walls, climb truly inside her and see what she hides from everyone. His head hurts as she presses back against him, a flash of pain shooting through his skull like the worst kind of migraine, hazel eyes flashing a dangerous warning when he looks up into them, and he laughs, withdrawing, pretending he hadn’t cared that much anyway. He’ll break her yet, he tells himself, numb her mind with sensations enough for him to slip through as soon as the shields are flimsy enough. 

Focusing on the present, he moves his hands to slide them up over her naked form, grabbing roughly at small breasts and then up around her back to pull her, toppling her down over him in mind. She resists, muscles tensing and bracing herself back against him so she does not fall - he could drag her down if he really tried but he’s momentarily impressed enough at her strength to let her be, letting one hand drop to rest on her thigh as the other slides up and curls around her neck. 

Too easy, too predictable to wrap his hand around her throat and squeeze. She is so very slight and delicate beneath his hands this time - snappable. At least she looks that way; he knows her better. He grasps a fistful of her hair instead and yanks, arching her back further, baring her pretty pale throat to his dark gaze. _One slice_. If he had a knife handy that’s all it would take - he could do it quick enough that she wouldn’t even feel it, she’d be dead before her eyes could snap down to his, the life leaving her pupils before his very eyes as blood ran in dribbles down her chest and her body burst forth in golden light… or would it? He’s lost count of what number she’s on now, but it feels like too many.

With no knife to hand, he pushes the fingers of his other hand into her open mouth instead, pressing down on her tongue, wondering how easy it would be to choke her like this, when she bites down hard enough for him to give a yell of surprise, snapping his hand back. He’s bleeding, as he shakes the pain out of his hand, and she will pay for that. How he wishes he had a knife to hand _now._

“You’d be too coward to use it anyway,” she accuses, and he curses himself for letting her catch the thought. 

“Shut up and ride me, bitch,” he growls, taking out his irritation with his words. If his language offends her she doesn’t show it, merely raising an eyebrow like she’s unamused and unaffected. But the way a furrow appears in her brow and her mouth falls open as she starts to move faster over him, bouncing roughly now, belies the fact that she is _very much_ affected indeed. Eternally affected by him, just as he is by every incarnation of _her._

She’s off balance like this, with her hands bound behind her back, and he can feel the tension in the muscles of her thighs as she grinds her hips, knowing they must be aching by now. Good, he thinks, eyes following a bead of sweat as it trickles down the side of her face, watching in fascination as moisture breaks out on her chest, skin flushing with exertion, breasts bouncing roughly as she moves. So lost is he in chasing the orgasm he can feel building within him, that he almost forgets his earlier vow, reminded only when she tips her head back, and her voice snaps at him in his mind; _You could at least put your fingers to use if you really are just going to lie there._

He smirks, moving his hand to let his thumb brush over her clit just like she’d asked, and using the moment when she gasps and quickens her rhythm even more to squeeze his eyes shut, throwing everything he has at the barriers in her head, trying to smash his way inside her mind so he can finally, truly have every part of her. 

“Ah!” He yells, blinding pain shooting through his skull again, making his eyes snap open as he clamps a hand to his head and looks up at her in shock at the force with which she’d repelled him. 

She has stopped moving and her eyes flash dangerously where she sits, panting atop him, her body pulsating around his.

“Do that again and I’ll explode your brain into a thousand pieces,” she threatens. “Don’t think I couldn’t.”

He swallows, dropping his hand, residual dull pain still throbbing through his head. “Never doubted, my dear,” he drawls, taking hold of her hips, thumb finding her clit again and watching smugly as he coaxes her back into pliancy on top of him. “Still I’d rather prefer if you blew my mind another way.”

Hips rut up into her to drive his point home and she gasps softly, eyelids fluttering. She’s moving again, leaning back a bit now, bound hands reaching back to brace against his thigh and _yes_ \- she really is tired now isn’t she? He can feel it in the tension of her muscles and the slackness to her jaw, and still he pushes her to move faster, harder, rubbing at her until she’s starting to clench around him then withdrawing his hand; over and over he does this, the struggle from holding back his own climax starting to take its toll by the fifth time he denies her. 

Furious frustration is in her eyes as she glares down at him, and moves faster, almost frantically, clearly trying to finish this off without his help, but he knows this body already; that part of her he _had_ seen, in that brief moment she’d let him peak earlier - this isn’t enough for her alone, the lack of stimulation where she needs it most merely driving her closer to frustration. 

“What do you want?” She grinds out bouncing roughly; angrily. 

“To break you,” he growls cruelly. 

She smiles - not a pleasant smile, a twisted curve of her lips upwards, amused flash in her eyes that disappears as quickly as it had appeared. “You can’t,” she says simply. _Can’t break something that’s already broken._

He inhales sharply at that, wondering if she had meant for him to catch the thought, before she’s suddenly squeezing her internal muscles around him, clenching and releasing rhythmically over and over and quite honestly he’d be impressed with how quickly she seemed to have gotten to grips with her new anatomy if white hot pleasure wasn’t shooting from his cock to his brain, if she wasn’t moving over him just enough but not quite to let him tip over the edge. He looks up at her through dazed vision - she’s exhausted, every inch of her radiates it, sweat dripping from her, limbs trembling, muscles taut and quivering with over exertion beneath his hands and the double beat of her hearts almost frantic in his head to match his own. 

Not quite broken but taken apart enough for now, he decides, moving his hand between her legs and finally, _finally_ giving them what they both want. 

She leans right back when she comes, and the angel makes him howl and buck his hips up into hers uncontrollably, her cries like music to his ears as he holds her still on top of him, and then holds her close when she collapses forward over him, breath ragged by his ear. 

Her mind is blank when he nudges at it - politely this time, curiosity getting the better of him and requesting entry as he should. He lulls there for a minute or two, letting the satisfaction of the recent climax rock them both together, like calm waters just after a storm. She pushes him out before too long, starting to squirm on top of him, at his mercy stuck like this, and he knows her shoulders must be aching, wrists sore. Good. He wants her to hurt - hopes she hurts for days after this, wishes he could crawl inside her and inflict hurt on her very hearts that torments her to the end of her days, burns like the fires he lit on Gallifrey will for millennia to come. 

Or maybe, he thinks smugly, bitterly - he already has. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhh sorry about this one, I wanted to try and get inside the Master's head. It's dark in there.


	5. Lies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my head this was set after Fugitive of the Judoon but it doesn't really matter.

“Have a look round,” the Doctor forces a smile for her three friends, “Get some souvenirs - those cards I gave you should have enough credits on to buy what you want. Just gonna do a bit of shopping on my own.”

They glance at each other and she knows that they know she’s lying. For definite now after what she’d told them the previous day. Another lie - although half of one that time. They know she knows it too… but they don’t push her, understanding that it’s not what she needs at the moment - or perhaps unsure of her enough not to want to try. 

“Meet back here in an hour?” Her smile is all teeth and no joy.   
With another glance at each other, they nod. She doesn’t miss the way Yaz lets out a huff and Ryan rolls his eyes as they turn away to wander off, Graham casting a lingering look over his shoulder at her, and at least offering her a kind nod before he does the same. 

The Doctor sighs, shoulders slumping, and hurries off to her Tardis. 

\--

“I was starting to wonder if you’d stood me up.”

The Master is sprawled on the bed on the far side of the room she’s landed it. It is dim and damp smelling, wallpaper peeling and ceiling yellow with smoke stains. Nice. She wants to snipe at him for picking such a seedy location, but she supposes the setting suits the depravity of what they are doing anyway, and doesn’t mention it. 

“No talking,” she says shortly, shucking her coat and shrugging off her braces as she walks over to where he lounges on the bed. She throws her jumper off, kicks off her boots, pushes her trousers down and leaves them on the floor. 

“Bad day?” He drawls, an infuriating smirk on his lips that tells her the news makes him pleased.

“I said no talking,” she says shortly, shoving her underwear down and stepping out it, climbing up onto the bed to straddle him.

His hands come to her waist, gliding up and tugging her elastic bra over her head as she grinds on top of him, frown on her face as she fumbles with his trousers.

“You gonna help or just lie there?” She snaps after a moment.

The Master puts his hands behind his head, eyes locked onto her breasts as they jiggle with her irritated movements as she undresses him. “I’m enjoying the view.”

She slaps him in the face; it takes him by surprise apparently, enough to make him jump and a hand to fly to his red cheek as his eyes widen, before he’s laughing. “ _Very_ bad day then.”

She goes to hit him again but he’s ready this time, and grabs her wrist before she can make contact, seizing the other one too when she flies at him with her left hand curled into a fist, letting out an angered growl as he throws her down on her back beneath him. 

“While I can’t deny I’ve always enjoyed your rage Doctor, I am not your damn punching bag,” he growls back. 

“Aren’t you?” She spits, grinding her hips up into his to drive home her point; let him know exactly what this was.

It irritates him, she can see it in his face, right eye twitching slightly even as his hips buck down against hers. Her grin is a snarl, upper lip curling to bare her teeth, a challenge in her eyes. 

He breaks in just three seconds, releasing her with a growl of annoyance, and kneeling up on the bed to yank his shirt over his head and shove his trousers down his thighs. In the mood to fuck instead of be fucked this time, the Doctor sits up and shoves him, toppling him down onto his back again so she can climb back on top of him, grabbing hold of his cock and sinking down on it too quickly for him to get a chance to react at their reversed positions. 

She moves quickly, revelling in the burn as she’s stretched out, grinding her hips down and down with every thrust, taking him in deeper so she can feel the pressure in the pit of her stomach, their ragged breathing punctuated with sharp gasps and groans. 

The Master closes his eyes and she feels a niggle inside her mind. 

_Contact_ .

She grits her teeth and keeps her mental barriers in place, not wanting him to see what was in her head today; not wanting him to see what she’d learnt and feel the turmoil of her confusion and angst. She’d allowed him too much of her pain as it was. 

She feels a pressure in her head as he requests contact again and frowns, pushing him back. 

“Why won’t you let me in,” he growls in irritation, fingers bruising on her hips as his eyes snap open to glare at her. 

“You’re so needy,” she snaps back, moving over him. “It’s pathetic. You’ve got your cock in me, why do you need to be in my head as well?”

She sees his face flicker with anger, and knows she’s hit a nerve. He won’t admit to craving a deeper connection like their race is wont to do during such acts by connecting their minds too, and so the pressure goes away, his nails digging into her skin instead, feet planting on the bed so he can thrust up hard against her. 

A climax is building inside her already - thankfully - she wants this to be over as quickly as it can be, and she chases it, bouncing fast, hand moving between her legs and fingers pressing against her clit as she winds herself up. Her whole body shakes when she comes, grabbing a fistful of the Master’s hair as she leans forward, gasps tumbling from her open mouth as she rides out the waves of pleasure. She slumps on top of him when she’s done, and lets him lift her off him and push her down onto her stomach on the bed, her body limp and pliant from her climax as he forces her knees apart and enters her from behind, keening quietly into the pillow when he fills her again. 

The pillow smells damp like the room, and the sheets she clenches in her fists are a beige-grey where they once would have been white and she’ll need a long shower to get the filth of that and the Master off her after this, but in that moment it all feels sordidly fitting, and she lays there quietly, letting him finish himself off inside her. 

He rolls off her when he’s done, hot wetness seeping from between her legs and making her feel filthier still, and she drags herself up and out of the bed, not wanting to be close to him for a moment longer then necessary. 

They are both still panting as the Doctor dresses with trembling limbs, the Master apparently content to lay sprawled on his back, trousers still down round his knees and sweat-damp sheets a tangle around him. 

“Same time tomorrow?” He quips as the Doctor shoves her feet into her boots and scoops up her coat, braces hanging down by her sides. 

“I’m never letting you touch me again,” she vows. Just like she had the last three times. 

“Mhm,” he drawls, reaching down to finally yank up his trousers, and rolling to sit up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed as he scoops up his shirt. “See you then.”

The Doctor doesn’t look back over her shoulder as she stumbles back into her Tardis and slams her hands down on the controls, desperate to get away from him as fast as she can. 

\--

Her hair is still damp from her hasty shower when she meets back up with her friends, forty minutes late, and if they notice the puffiness around her eyes they don’t say anything.


End file.
